


Not Always Wise, Not Always Foolish

by orphan_account



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alfred is a degenerate, Angst, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Like it's really tame, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 05:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16111502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The ends, beginnings and undoings of a deceptive Executioner all from one fateful night.





	Not Always Wise, Not Always Foolish

Alfred struggled against the arms of his fellow executioners. The sweat from his forehead cascaded down his face, mixing with his tears. He lurched forward with all his might, briefly freeing himself of the restraints of his comrades. He swiftly ripped the golden Ardeo off of his head to free his face.

“Master! Master Logarius!” Alfred’s outstretched his arm towards his mentor.

 He was able to take just a few steps forward before strong arms once again snaked themselves under his arms. Alfred dug his feet into the ground but the snowy cobbled ground showed the young Executioner no mercy.

“Get a hold of yourself,” one of the men holding him shouted.

“We cannot leave Master! Please,” Alfred whimpered. His strong voice betrayed him. Betrayed his true feelings. The desperation tangible to every surviving Executioner around. One of his fellow Executioners sneered in disgust.

The man shoved Alfred to the ground. He twisted Alfred’s arm behind his back and the man dug his knee into the small of his back. The man began to dig his knee further in Alfred’s back. Alfred choked out in pain as his face was pushed further into the snow clad ground. He should have felt the searing cold, yet the burning despair of reality hurt him more than anything ever could. More than anything ever would.  

The man’s hand tangled into Alfred’s golden tresses. Oh, how the Ardeo had kept them so vibrant. So pure of blood. Of defilement. The Executioner silently reveled in how the blood from his gloves tainted the hair of the favored student. Under his own Ardeo his eyes were wide and crazed. An open mouth smirk ready to tear into the younger Executioner.

Alfred’s fellow Executioner yanked his face out of the snow and lifted it in the direction of their Master Logarius.

“Are you not an executioner,” the man yelled at him. Alfred winced away from the man’s mouth. “Is this not the work we were born and raised to do? To rid this world of the filthy Vilebloods?”

Alfred kept quiet. He tried to focus through the tears in his eyes on his Master, currently engaged in battle with the sole king of Cainhurst.

“Were you not ready for any outcome when you took your vows as Executioner?” The man’s grip tightened. Alfred hissed in pain. He glared at his comrade from the corners of his eyes. Despite his tears his gaze was murderous.  

“Acts of goodness are not always wise,” the executioner started. The other Executioners gathered round.

“And acts of evil are not always foolish,” they joined in on the vows with which bound them as one. “But, regardless, we shall…”

The man struck Alfred in his head with a closed fist.

“Say it,” he hissed.

“Always…”

“Say your vows,” he struck him again. Blood began to weep out of Alfred’s temple.

“Strive to be good.” The rest of the Executioners finished.

“Master Logarious!” Alfred’s voice cracked.

A sickening thud was carried through the wind towards the group of Executioners. Every one of the Executioners heads snapped their heads in the direction of the sound.

Logarius bent over and picked up the crown from the fallen kings head. Every one of the Executioners back straightened as they realized what their master was about to do. Even the grip in Alfred’s hair loosened.

He seized the opportunity and pushed himself off the ground, tossing the other Executioner down.

“Master, no! Please,” he wailed at the top of his lungs. He ran forward but a few other executioners stood in his path, forming an impenetrable wall. The looped their hands under his arms and began to stop forward, dragging Alfred further away from his master.

“Master Logarius!”

Perhaps the Old Gods felt pity for the young man and in their miniscule understanding of man, allowed the wind to carry Alfred’s voice to his master one last time.

Logarius looked straight to Alfred and a mournful smile washed upon his face.

“Always strive to be good, my precious student,” Logarius lowered the crown onto his head and sat back on the solitary chair. As soon as the crown had kissed his head a terrible wind rocked even the solid Executioners. The snow began to dance around their eyes, shrouding their master from them.

Alfred’s confessions and begging fell on deaf ears as the Cainhurst wind howled its own grief.

The Executioners left all at once, dragging Alfred with them. They ran past the bloodshed, cutting down what little survivors there were as they made their exit. Sorrow weighed down even on their own hearts.

 

Back in Hemwick they were finally able to let the gravity of the situation weigh upon them. Slowly they began to remove their Ardeos. They all looked to each other, yet their glazed eyes passed through each other. The revelation of no longer having their master was beginning to swirl within their minds.

A booming rumble was heard in the distance and the Executioners turned to watch the bridge that connected Hemwick and Cainhurst crumble into the dark waters below.

Alfred was dropped to the ground and he fell to his knees. His eyes were wide in shock. The trauma of isolation began to snake around his heart and a pained sob ripped through his chest. Alfred’s comrades turned to gaze upon the weeping man.

Alfred in all his fatigue tried to stand, but immediately dropped to the ground with a whimper. None tried to help him. He tried again with no avail.

The Executioners watched as Alfred began to drag himself towards the ornate obelisk towering in the middle of Hemwick. Some felt a sort of pity for the man, other faces twisted with disgust and outrage at his cowardice. Even with his master’s inspiring last words he chose to snivel like a useless babe.

Alfred pulled himself closer to the stone, leaning on it for support. He whimpered Logarius’s name as he continued to mourn.

The crunching of foliage under the retreating Executioners jolted Alfred out of his misery for just a moment.

“We must go back for Master Logarius,” he blubbered, turning to his allies. His eyes were wild with something unhinged and broken. His face was damp with blood and tears.

“There’s nothing we can do,” a random Executioner tried to console him. They held back another Executioner, shaking their head at them.

A dark, twisted smile marked Alfred’s face. A bark of laughter mixed with his sobs.

“Of course we can! The Vilebloods! Aha! Do they not run towards the stench of blood? Much like a leech we can summon one here,” Alfred smeared his bloodied head against the obelisk.

His shattered state of mind prevented him from recalling that every Vileblood that they, the Executioners, came across was eliminated.

The band of Executioners began to walk away from Alfred who was now beginning to ramble on like a madman. Alfred began to speak faster trying to convince someone, anyone to help him try and go back, but this time he was left truly and utterly alone.

All of his rambling faded into wailing. Alfred curled up under the obelisk, his robes already defiled with unclean blood mixing with the dirt of Hemwick.

He vowed that once his strength recovered he would return to Cainhurst and destroy that wretch of a Queen, once and for all.

\--

“Ah! I feel my Master's hand at work! Praise the good blood, and let us cleanse these tarnished streets! It has been an honour, but I must say goodbye. Let us cleanse these tarnished streets! And may the good blood guide your way.”

A knot churned in Alfred’s stomach as he walked away from his new friend, a fellow hunter. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but Alfred willed them away. The time for mourning was long past. Much like the wind had shrouded his master away from him, hatred had now shrouded any sorrow from his heart.

Ah, dear hunter! Foolish, foolish hunter. They knew not what they had done.

He had seen this all before. The snow, the castle’s haughty adornments, the women. Oh, how they screamed once more at the sight of the Executioner. Alfred savored their screams as he cut each one of them down, again. Maybe it wasn’t that bad that their spirits were bound to haunt the halls of their former nobility. This was all their fault. Had the disgusting Vilebloods never come to exist then Alfred would have never been separated from his precious master. Alfred’s cape billowed in the sharp winds as his strides grew, eager to reach the wench that caused his ill fate.

 

Alfred came to a halt when he reached the familiar stretch of roofing from that forsaken night. At the very end of the stretch he could just barely make out the lone chair which his master had sat himself upon all those moons ago.

With hesitant steps Alfred made his way forward. How he longed to see his master once more. To hear his voice sing praises to him again. To feel his guiding touch as if time had not kept them apart. The blood in Alfred’s body surged and settled in familiar places. He moaned in anticipation. He removed his Ardeo, choosing to carry it so that their reunion would be so much sweeter upon seeing each other’s faces.

The ignorant fool. His master had passed many moons ago, leaving only his arcane imbued corpse to fend off any trespassers.

As he approached the empty throne this realization cut down Alfred. He stumbled forward, just barely catching himself on the seat his master had sacrificed himself on. Letting his vulnerability prevail once more Alfred laid his head in the seat of the throne and began to weep once more. Nothing had changed from that bloody night. Logarius was forever gone from Alfred, the wretched Queen still lived, and Alfred was abandoned. Curses of both past and present flew through the blustering wind.

Trying to calm himself down, Alfred took in deep breaths. A curious familiarly began to swell inside of him. Alfred frowned and once more took a deep breath in. Oh, that scent. That could only belong to one man.

Of course! The throne with which Logarius had spent the remainder of his life was marked with his essence.

Alfred closed his eyes in bliss and slid himself into the throne of his former mentor. Not even the piercing cold could match the burning desire he felt after all the years. Settling in Alfred slowly slid his hand down his trousers. He stroked his throbbing cock with his gloved hand. The leather was soft from wear over the years and it was warm and sweaty from his firm grip on his Logarius wheel.

“Oh Master Logarius,” Alfred sighed wearily as he rubbed himself. He recalled his early days as an Executioner. The training and teachings that would guide him in life, lead him to what had been a better life. Alfred narrowed in on the special moments he spent alone with his master. The touches his Master left him with, along with his knowledge had led him to this point.

Alfred bucked his hips and shaft further into his hand. He began to pant as he stroked faster. Alfred remember the night he officially became an Executioner, the night he had spent with Logarius was one that had defined every single one of his breathing moments from that point on. The moonlight had illuminated them so beautifully that night that not even the temptresses of Cainhurst could rival them. His blood grew hot at the thought of the defiled bloodline. Alfred began to stroke faster at the thought of destroying their lineage once and for all. Their Queen would die at his hands. His master would be truly martyred and it was all thanks to him! Truly this was the reason that Alfred had been personally mentored and taken in by Logarius.

It was his destiny to destroy that rotten Annalise. And when her blood was spilled he would sing praises of his Master.

Alfred hissed feeling himself nearing his end. He began to pump himself faster.

Only after that could he make himself a martyr and join his master in martyrdom and death. They would be together again. The thought of their reunion was too much for Alfred and he felt his rapture begin.

“Master Logarius,” he whimpered and sobbed, “We’ll be together again. Wait for me…”

Alfred’s voice faltered as his body rocked and shivered through his release. A few bittersweet sobs choked out of throat as Alfred began to come down from his pleasure induced high.

As he removed his hand from his trousers, Alfred’s face fell eerily calm and devoid of expression. He stood up and shook his dirtied glove of his seed. It landed soundlessly into the snow. As Alfred stepped around the throne he used his clean hand to trace the curves, following its shape. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the back of it before kneeling down in prayer. When finished his back straightened and he fixed his Ardeo upon his natural golden locks.  

His footsteps echoed as he ascended to the throne of the Vileblood Queen.   

**Author's Note:**

> I really hoped you enjoyed this fic! I'm still new at fic writing so all constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! Also I love talking about Bloodborne so hit me with them mf theories and discussions in the comments (or even twitter if you like me enough) :3c
> 
> This might be a two part fic but I'm not sure yet. I know what I want to write, but don't know if it's wanted lol
> 
> Also please enjoy my all time favorite post about Alfred. It's the funniest thing  
> https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/boards/805577-bloodborne/75051989
> 
> Also I will never let go of my headcanon that the Executioners are just the incels of Bloodborne.


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